Just Today
by kaz456
Summary: Pasts and futures are only important in light of the present. The Bohemians gather, in pairs, and explore the truth of Angel’s mantra. Features all main characters prominently.


**AN: **First section takes place much earlier than the later ones.

**Just Today**

Joanne's heels clicked determinedly against the hospital floor, their fast pace matching the beating of her heart. It wasn't that she was nervous—no, that was a lie. She _was_ nervous, and it wasn't a feeling that she enjoyed. Joanne Jefferson could deal with just about everything, but she didn't deal well with nervousness.

She tightened her grip on the large bouquet of flowers in her hand, and couldn't help but feel slightly out of place, though reason told her that she had absolutely no reason to feel so. She was just as much a part of the family as everyone else, even if she wasn't exactly bohemian. She still was invested in the family, through and through.

Joanne stopped outside the door and took a deep breath. _No nervousness. _She brushed some invisible strands of lint off her navy-blue blazer, nodded her head slightly, and pushed open the door to the room.

Angel lay on a drab bed in the middle of the room, surrounded by colorful bouquets of flowers and bright crowds of balloons that matched her usual cheerful demeanor perfectly. Propped up beside her was a large, overstuffed, purple bear, smiling lopsidedly. Joanne smiled upon seeing it, remembering how Maureen had begged her to buy it, because "_Angel will just love it!" _

Angel's eyes were closed, and Joanne looked at her. Though she seemed less like herself without her multi-colored outfits, makeup, and wig, she still exuded the same sense of peaceful calm that had come to be synonymous with her name. No matter what, and even when lying alone on a hospital bed, Angel would always be Angel.

Joanne had turned around to leave, reluctant to wake Angel up, when she heard a faint voice. "Not so fast, girlfriend."

She turned around once more, and saw Angel, eyes open, a tired-looking smile gracing her face.

Joanne gently set the flowers down on a table and sat down in the chair beside the bed. "Hi, Angel."

The smile never left Angel's face. "I've been waiting for you to come by and visit me," She said softly. Joanne bowed her head a little, slightly ashamed that she had waited so long. "Don't worry about it," Angel chuckled weakly. "I knew you would come around."

"I'm sorry," Joanne told her. She sat up straight, hands folded in her lap. "Things have been so busy at the office—" She cut herself off, aware that she wasn't telling the entire truth. "I'm sorry," She repeated, simply.

Angel nodded, and smoothly changed the subject. "How're things with Maureen?"

_Maureen…_Joanne drew in a sharp breath. What was there to say about Maureen? Maureen was a tornado waiting to happen, vibrant and passionate and almost too much of everything. But she wasn't supposed to be thinking those things, Joanne reminded herself. She and Maureen had broken up again. "I don't know," She replied honestly.

Angel seemed to understand. "She'll come back," she said. "That girl's crazy, but she loves you."

Sometimes Joanne wasn't so sure about that. The conviction in Angel's voice, though, was too much to ignore.

"And you love her," Angel added.

This was one thing that Joanne was completely sure about. She suddenly remembered that this visit wasn't about her; Angel had a tendency, in her overwhelming concern for the people around her, to forget about herself. Joanne scolded herself silently for her own selfishness, and reached forward and took Angel's pale hand in hers. "This shouldn't be about me," Joanne pointed out. "How have you been?"

Angel smiled again, a burst of light on her face, though much weaker than it had been a mere month earlier. They didn't like to admit it, none of them, but she was fading fast.

"I've been terrific. A little lonely sometimes, but Collins tries to spend all his time here. I had to shoo him home today." She chuckled again, and Joanne gently tightened her grip on her hand.

"Angel, you…" How to say it? Joanne wasn't known for her sensitivity with words, but in this instance, she didn't want to be too blunt.

The concern was unnecessary. "I know," Angel said. "I'm going soon." It was the frankest statement Joanne had ever heard from her.

"I wish you weren't." Joanne spoke more truthfully than she felt she ever had. "I wish I had known you longer. I wish—"

"Forget regret," was the gentle chiding that interrupted her.

Joanne smiled a little. "Of course. But…I don't know what we'll do without you, Angel. I honestly don't." She let go of Angel's hand and leaned back in her chair, her face grim.

Angel coughed a little, and Joanne rushed to hand her the cup of water that rested on the table beside her. After she had finished drinking, Angel lay down and closed her eyes. "Don't worry about the future."

_How can I not worry? _Was what Joanne wanted to say as she replaced the cup, but she bit her tongue and waited.

"Don't worry about the future, don't worry about the past. Think about today. Just _today._" At this final affirmation, Angel opened her eyes and reached over to grasp Joanne's hand.

Joanne nodded. "Today," She repeated. Angel smiled, but it was a weaker smile than the one that had been on her face when Joanne had first come in. She spoke once more to Joanne in a voice tinged with exhaustion. "Don't worry, Joanne. You have just as much a right to be in this family as anyone else."

Joanne didn't even bother to question how Angel was able to poke through to her inner doubts, just nodded and held on to Angel's hand while she could.

"Just today," Angel repeated, staring firmly into Joanne's eyes. She let go of her hand, and patted it softly before laying back down once more. Joanne felt the hints of finality that lingered around the words, and she forcefully pushed them away.

"Go back to sleep, Angel," She said quietly, but the words were not needed. Angel's eyes were already closed, her breathing slow and even.

Joanne sat by the bed for half an hour more, letting strands of thoughts and memories fill her mind. She finally left when the nurse walked in, but not before squeezing Angel's hand once more.

As she clicked down the hall again, ignoring the bittersweet aftertaste of the visit, she couldn't help but hear the Angel's words, dancing and reverberating in her head.

_Just today._

* * *

"Yesterday," Maureen grinned as she fell back onto the comfortable sofa. "Yesterday was _fun._" 

"It was," Mimi agreed. She set the nail polish bottles down on the expensive-looking coffee table in front of them and plopped down next to Maureen. She smiled wistfully, remembering the night.

Maureen smiled as well. The night before had been Halloween, Angel's favorite holiday, and they had celebrated without reserve. The loft was still trashed with the empty beer bottles and candy wrappers. She tossed a sideways glance at Mimi, who still had a nostalgic smile on her face. The holiday had even more meaning, if it was possible, for Mimi, who had been Angel's best friend, and who had always celebrated Halloween with her.

"I miss her sometimes," Mimi admitted quietly, certain that Maureen would realize who she was speaking of. Maureen nodded her head and threw her arms around Mimi in a bone-crushing hug.

"Of course you do!" She said, feeling pleased when Mimi returned the hug without delay. "We all do. But celebrating's what she would want, you know."

"I know." Mimi pushed Maureen away gently. "She would have _loved _it."

"She _did_ love it," Maureen corrected. "And she loves this even more," She said, gesturing to all the different colors of nail polish spread out in front of them.

Mimi squealed in excitement. "I can't believe that you have so many!" She gushed. She picked up a bright purple bottle in one hand and held it up to her skin. "How do you think this will look?"

Maureen frowned. "Toes or hands?"

"Toes."

Maureen scrunched up her face and shook her head. "It'd look better on your hands."

This time Mimi shook her head. "I'm doing green on my hands," She proclaimed. "But maybe I'll choose a different color for my feet." She opened a bottle of pink-colored nail polish, and the acidic smell filled the room.

Maureen picked up her own bottle of bright orange and studied it carefully before beginning to apply it to the fingernails of her left hand.

"Are you sure Joanne won't mind us doing this in here?" Mimi asked without looking up from painting the nails on her feet.

Maureen shrugged. "Doesn't matter." Mimi laughed at Maureen's nonchalance, and Maureen grinned brightly in return.

She and Mimi had only started hanging out together recently, but their visits were becoming more and more frequent. They made a good match—both liked clothes, liked to have fun, and had lots of energy. And though Mimi was young, Maureen had learned that she had plenty to say—usually things that Maureen had no problem listening to, especially since Mimi didn't seem to mind listening to Maureen go on and on, either.

"Tell me about where you lived before New York," Mimi said slowly, bent over and focused on applying the color _just right_. She asked these sorts of questions often, Maureen had noticed. For a girl who spent so much time living for the present, Mimi liked to hear about Maureen's past a lot.

It was all right, though. Maureen liked to talk.

"Okay," Maureen started brightly. "Let's see…" She bit her lip in thought and replaced the lid on the orange nail polish. "Hmm. Okay, so I was raised in this crap town in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, remember that one time that Mark said all that stuff about me and Hicksville? He wasn't kidding." Maureen blew lightly on her fingernails and frowned. "I don't like this color," she announced. She dunked nail polish remover onto a cotton ball and rubbed the drenched bit of cotton over her fingernails.

"And how'd you get here?" Mimi prompted impatiently. She had painted her toenails perfectly the first time and was waiting for her feet to dry.

"I'm _getting _there," Maureen told her before picking up a striking red shade of nail polish. She showed the bottle to Mimi, who nodded approvingly, and opened it and began to paint.

"So, this one day, they had this performance at the local theatre, and they were advertising all over town about auditions. And I was like, hell, why not?" Maureen paused in her painting to look at the color carefully, decided she liked it, and continued with both talking and painting. "So I tried out, got in the show, and loved it. And," She added smugly, "Everyone loved me. The director said I had _stage presence._" No matter how flippantly she said it, Maureen knew that she would never forget the rush of being on stage for the first time, knowing deep inside of her that all those people were there to see her. Her! That night had been her night, and she had nearly bubbled over in excitement the moment that the curtain had first opened.

Mimi twirled a strand of long hair around her finger and waggled her toes in the air. She gingerly tapped on one of her toenails to check if it was dry.

Maureen blew on her nails again, this time satisfied with the color. "I decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life on stage, and I figured the best place to do it was—where else? New York!" She finished her story with a flourish, smiling triumphantly at Mimi.

"Now you have to tell me about how you got here," Maureen decided. Mimi shrugged and played with her hair again.

"Okay," She said, none too excited to speak. She scooted up a little on the couch, careful not to scrape her feet against anything, even though the paint was dry. "I ran away from home at fifteen. Didn't know where to go, but I somehow ended up on the door of the Cat Scratch. Dancing was the only thing I knew how to do. Well," A wry smile dropped onto her face, lacking in mirth but not in sarcasm. "Dancing and flirting. Flirted and danced my way into a position at the Cat Scratch, and slept my way into an apartment with some guy. Turned out the guy was a dealer. He helped me get started on smack. Spent two years like that, sleeping with this guy whose name I didn't even know, and dancing at the Cat Scratch. Then I met Angel one day, and we immediately became best friends. She helped me get my own place. She was the first friend I'd had in two years." Mimi stopped speaking, but her finger continued to slowly slide around strands of hair.

Mimi's gritty story contrasted greatly with Maureen's sugarcoated tale, but in the silence, both felt a strange sort of solidarity with one another. Neither said anything, but the comfortable feeling in the room wasn't broken.

"If not for Angel…I don't know where I'd be." Mimi bowed her head suddenly, the memories rushing at her. She had been a lost, young, girl in a big city, clutching onto the hand of Angel, whose vivaciousness had drawn her in immediately. They had been a perfect pair for each other. Angel had done almost everything for her. The one thing, Mimi realized, that Angel hadn't been able to do was get her off smack.

_But then again_, Mimi thought, shifting on the couch once more. _That was a job for Roger_.

Her train of thought was broken by the feeling of a hand grabbing hers suddenly. Maureen's face was cracked into a sympathetic smile. She let go of Mimi's hand as quickly as she had grabbed it, but Mimi felt reassured. Maureen, for all her dramatics, was a good friend.

"Hey, let's pick out each other's colors!" Maureen exclaimed suddenly. She hoped that Mimi would understand that this was her way of acknowledging Mimi's past. Mimi's eyes brightened and she laughed excitedly, and Maureen knew she understood.

The two of them studied the lines of bottles in front of them, and after moments of careful consideration, their hands landed simultaneously on the same bottle: a rich shade of deep blue.

Mimi snatched the bottle away first and opened it. "You know, blue symbolizes peace."

Peace with the past.

"And beauty. Like angels," Maureen decided, as Mimi began painting the nail polish onto Maureen's toes.

Mimi paused and grinned, brush held above a nail. So what if Maureen had made that up? Blue had always been Angel's favorite color of nail polish, and if anyone had been peaceful and beautiful, it was their Angel. "Yes, peace and beauty."

She and Maureen exchanged smiles, and Mimi bent back over to continue painting, a smile forming on her face as she thought about how much Angel would have liked this, and how perhaps it wasn't a bad thing to have missed Angel's presence yesterday.

* * *

"Tomorrow's the day." 

At the words, Collins looked up from his desk, where he was "grading papers," or more accurately, filling out a crossword puzzle. Even professors deserved breaks.

Mark strode across the room, tsking mockingly when he saw the lack of work on Collins' desk. "Good to see that you're working hard, Col."

Collins scoffed as he pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up. "Please. I _am _working hard. This," he gestured lazily to the puzzle in front of him. "Is challenging."

He ignored Mark's derisive snort and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. "Let's get out of here, man. I'm tired of this place." Though he liked teaching, and feeling like he was having some sort of impact on the delinquents of tomorrow, there was always a point he reached in the week where he wondered if he got sick of the papers and grading and meetings. Luckily, that time usually coincided with when Mark would drop by.

Collins left the room, Mark on his heels, and the two walked in silence until they had stepped outside, into the crisp air and crowded sidewalks.

"Where to today?" Mark asked him, shrugging his coat a little tighter around himself.

Collins shrugged. "Doesn't matter. How 'bout the usual?"

Mark shook his head. "I am sick of miso soup," he said. "How about Chinese food?" He gestured across the street, at the little Chinese café, and Collins shrugged.

The two started heading in the direction of the café, and Collins smiled as he remembered how he and Angel had eaten there once, back in the days when it was Angel who would stop by his office, ready for them to eat lunch together—not Mark, in an appreciated attempt to preserve her memory.

They seated themselves and ordered their food fairly quickly. Once the waitress who had half-heartedly taken their orders left, Mark sighed and slid out of his coat—a coat, Collins noticed, that he had never seen before.

"Did you pay for that with the money from the last check?" He asked, nodding towards it.

Mark grinned, a little sheepish. "Yeah."

Collins laughed loudly. "Aww," He cooed, just barely restraining himself from reaching over and pinching Mark's cheeks. "Look at our Mark, making so much money off his little films." He laughed again and dropped the teasing voice. "You still gonna come by for our lunches when you're a famous director?"

"Hell, no," Mark said conversationally. "I'm just looking for a good excuse so that I can stop coming to these things."

Collins leaned back and grinned. "Keep on looking. I need a reason to get away from my desk." Both liked to pretend that they actually didn't enjoy their once-a-week lunches together, though, in fact, the opposite was true.

"You were saying, though, when you walked in," Collins switched the subject cleanly. "Something about tomorrow?"

Mark stared at him. "You don't know what I was talking about?"

"Well…no."

Mark shook his head, grinning knowingly. "Idiot. How could you not know?" He shook his head once more for good measure, relishing in the fact that (for once) he knew something that Collins didn't.

"Planning on telling me?"

"Hold on," Mark insisted. "Let me laugh at you a little longer."

"Take your time," Collins shot back sarcastically. He drummed his fingers on the table, glanced out the window, and ignored Mark's snickers. Finally, he leaned forward again, tired of feigning patience.

"Gonna tell me now?"

Mark just held up a hand, stopping him. He took a long sip of water and slowly set his glass down. Then he took his glasses off, cleaned them, and set them back on his face, all the while wearing a smug grin.

_Damn him,_ Collins thought good-naturedly, knowing that Mark was only keeping this up because he knew that he had piqued Collins' curiosity.

Eventually, Mark spoke. "Do you still not know?" He asked incredulously. At the quick shake of Collins' head, he sighed disbelievingly. "Your birthday, Col! Your birthday's tomorrow!"

_Oh._ Collins scratched his head, just a little embarrassed. Maybe he should have been able to remember his own birthday, even if it felt just like another day to him.

But then again, it was more than just another day. It was the proof of another year of life, proof that he was still kicking and fighting against the virus in his body. When he looked at it that way, he could understand the importance Mark placed on the date.

Mark was looking at him expectantly. "Well," He said lamely, "Okay."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Try not to be too excited," He said, as the waitress returned with their food. She placed their dishes in front of them, and Collins inhaled the tasty smell of the food before unceremoniously digging in.

"Can't believe it's been a year, though," Collins said thoughtfully after swallowing a mouthful of fried rice. "Time flies."

Mark nodded. "Can you believe all that's happened lately?" Collins thought back momentarily over the past few months, over how Mimi had started attending classes during the day, Maureen had auditioned for and been cast in an Off-Broadway musical, Roger had begun performing solo in clubs, Joanne had gradually started taking more and more pro bono cases, and how Mark had landed a filming job that he actually liked. Suddenly, he was intensely grateful that he had been able to have another year on earth, another year of life spend with his friends.

"Crazy," was all he said to Mark.

"Wonder what'll happen next." Mark took a bite of Lo Mein and chewed inattentively. "Feels like everything's going by so fast."

Of course, that was something Mark would notice. The filmmaker had started carrying his camera around less and less, opting more to live life than to film it. Collins knew, though, that sometimes it felt like to _live_ life was to miss out on some of those details that only an observer could catch. Of course, it was still worth it to be in the action rather than behind the camera.

"What is it? What're you thinking about?" Collins asked, mainly because Mark had a look of deep concentration on his face.

"Just…stuff," Mark said slowly.

Collins snorted. "So specific."

Mark sighed, pretending to exaggerate his annoyance. "I mean, stuff about the future. Everything's so good now. Something's gotta go wrong soon. Things can't stay like this forever."

"Always the pessimist," Collins commented, puncturing the statement with a sip of iced tea.

"Realist," Mark corrected.

"Pessimist," Collins insisted. "Who says that things have to go wrong? Maybe it's all in your perspective." He rested an arm on the table. "Say tomorrow you get hit by a car and you break your leg."

"Gee, thanks for the example," Mark interjected dryly.

Collins continued after a few more bites. "You either see it as bad because now you're in the hospital, or good, because hey, you've still got your life. All in the perspective."

Mark shook his head, swallowing more fried rice. "You're saying that me getting hit by a car might not be a bad thing?"

Collins ignored the obvious joke in favor of a more serious approach. "No. I'm saying that yeah, stuff can happen, but you choose your own reaction to any situation. You choose just how bad something's gonna be, or just how okay you'll make it." He shrugged and smiled. "Just a thought," He added lightly.

"I don't know," Mark said, sounding unconvinced. "There's some stuff that…no matter how you look at it, just _sucks._" He ducked his head to crunch into his egg roll, certain that Collins could make his own list of things that could fit into that category. _AIDS, withdrawal, death…_

"Yeah," Collins agreed. "But there's a good side to some of that stuff, too." He grinned up at Mark, the characteristic twinkle in his eye.

Mark just laughed quietly. "Eternal optimist," He said, and then his face turned serious again. "You ever wish, when you were a kid, that you could go into the future and see how things would turn out?"

"Hell, yeah," Collins replied immediately. "All the time." He leaned back comfortably in his seat, his stomach full of the Americanized Chinese cuisine.

"Think you'd still be here if you'd known?"

It was a good question, Collins realized. If he had known all the crap that had already happened and that was to happen, would he have still chosen the same path for his life? Were the relationships and happiness that he had now discovered equal to the ease and non-problematic well-being that he could have had?

"Would you?" Collins tossed the question back at Mark with the realization that he didn't have a clear-cut answer of his own.

"Yes," Mark answered without hesitation. "I mean, come on. Where else would I be? Back in Scarsdale?" At the last word he made a face.

Collins laughed, and the conversation instantly became lighter. "All this future–talk," He complained. "Enough, I'm tired of it."

"It's your fault," Mark told him. "You're the one who has the birthday tomorrow."

Collins groaned at the reminder as the waitress came and laid a slip of paper on their table. "Tell me now—the girls aren't organizing another surprise party, are they?"

Mark laughed almost evilly as he remembered the gruesome surprise party that had been thrown against his will for his birthday two months ago. Some of the pastel-colored streamers were _still_ hanging in the loft. "Oh, yeah, they are."

Collins groaned again and ignored Mark's laughter. He grasped the paper the waitress had left on the table and the two men stood and proceeded to the cashier. "Damn! How can I get out of it?"

"You can't," Mark replied cheerfully. He pushed Collins away from the cashier and handed over the money for the meal. "Your present," He said, by way of explanation.

Collins nodded in acknowledgement. "I should tell them that I'm too busy having a mid-life crisis to have a party."

Mark snorted. "Nice try. Nothing you can do about it. But don't worry; there's gotta be some good in it. All in the perspective, right?"

Collins glared at Mark, not pleased at having his own words thrown back at him. Mark smirked in reply, and Collins rolled his eyes. "Go back to work, man, I'm sick of you."

"Love ya too, Col," Mark said, too happy about Collins' misfortune to be bothered by the insult.

Collins shook his head at Mark's retreating back and turned in the direction of his office, but he couldn't help but grin. It had been a good lunch, both food and conversation-wise, and though he had papers to grade and a crossword puzzle to figure out, there was only one thought on his mind.

"Now, how can I get out of that party tomorrow?"

* * *

"—Right now!" Urgent yelling and a loud banging on the metal door abruptly woke Roger up from his nap on the couch. 

He grumbled to himself and contemplated his options. Get up and see who could possibly be knocking at their door, or go back to sleep? Decisions, decisions.

No competition there. He turned over onto his other side, closed his eyes, and jammed his face back into an old pillow. Sleep was more important than opening the door. Besides, anyone important would either have a key or would call.

…Not that he would answer the phone.

"I said, OPEN THE DOOR!" Roger's eyes flew open against the pillow in annoyance. There was no way that he'd be getting sleep with that noise. He didn't have any other choice but to open up if he wanted to get any rest at all.

He grunted, pushed himself up off the couch, and staggered to the door, hair askew and eyes bit yet adjusted to the light. "Who is it?" He called out, wondering just how palpable the irritation in his voice was.

He slid the door open and his annoyance increased tenfold. The door hadn't even been worth opening, because the person who stood behind it was Benjamin Coffin III, ex-roommate and Class A sneaky, annoying, worthless rat.

"What do you want?" He snarled, but the effect was diminished by the long yawn that immediately followed.

"The rent," Benny said, pushing past him and into the loft. If he had been a little more awake, Roger decided, he would have shoved him out, but as he was now, he barely had the energy to close the door.

"Don't you have your own key?" Or did Benny secretly enjoy annoying him, and thus had purposely planned to bang on the door loudly when he knew that only Roger would be home?

Nah, planning that out would be too much work, even for Benny.

"I forgot it," Benny said coolly. He stood in the middle of the loft, and looked around. "Where's Mark?"

"At work." Roger sat back down on the couch, frustrated because he knew that he was now too awake to go back to sleep.

"So it's just you here?" Benny didn't seem extremely happy to have this nugget of information.

"Is that a problem?" Well, neither was Roger.

"Only if you make it, Davis," Benny responded tersely.

Oh, so this was his fault? He stood up angrily. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Benny sighed. "I don't have time for this. Do you have the rent? I forgot to get it when I was over here yesterday."

Roger glared at him, the tension in the room almost tangible. "No, I don't have the rent," He practically spit out.

Benny sighed again, visibly annoyed. "I need it. I need it today. How did I forget to get it yesterday?" He said, mostly to himself. He suddenly remembered that Roger was in the room. "When will Mark or Collins or Mimi be back?"

Roger contemplated simply not answering, but reluctantly changed his mind. "An hour. Hour and a half at most."

Benny sighed for the third time (it was starting to bother Roger). "I need it...I'll just…wait." He looked up at Roger, challenging him to argue with the decision.

For a moment, Roger was tempted to. After all, who did Benny think he was, barging in on Roger and then declaring that he would just wait around for an hour? Just because he had been coming over more often and was on good relations with everyone else did not mean that Roger trusted him. And in all honesty, the last thing that Roger wanted to do was sit in the same room as Benny. He considered retreating to his own room, then decided that he wouldn't let Benny kick him out of his loft (even though Benny technically owned it). He walked over to where his guitar lay, picked it up, and resolutely sat himself down on the couch, refusing to give Benny the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

The only sounds that filled the loft were the pungent notes dropped into the air as Roger began to tune his guitar. Once he was satisfied with the way it sounded, he strummed a chord to himself, the intro to a song forming in his mind.

"So, I hear you've been playing gigs again." Benny's voice pulled Roger out of the music, and he sighed.

"Yeah," He said shortly, and prepared to resume composing once more.

"Where at?" Benny asked, interrupting any creative ventures that could have come about. Roger wondered if Benny even cared to know, or if he was simply uncomfortable with the silence.

"Nowhere special. Just some clubs." Roger focused on his guitar once more.

…And once more, his concentration was broken. "With a band, or solo?"

Fed up, Roger laid down the guitar and stood to look at Benny, who was leaning against the metal table. "Look," He started curtly. "I know you don't really care. So you can stop pretending, okay?"

"Who says I don't care?" Benny asked defensively. "Why do you always assume that I don't like you so much?"

Roger stared at him. _What a stupid question._ "Hmm. Maybe, because you don't!"

Benny pushed himself off the table. "You're the one who doesn't like me, Davis!"

It was all Roger could do not to roll his eyes. "Please. Don't even try to turn this around on me, Benny. I'm surprised that you even care enough to argue about this," He said harshly, crossing his arms across his chest.

Benny laughed without any humor. "See? There you go again. You're the one that has a problem with me." He walked over to Roger, still speaking quickly. "You're the only one who hasn't made any effort to talk to me. Everyone else has gotten past everything that's happened—even Mimi and Maureen— but not you. You're the only one who still holds everything against me." By the time he had finished speaking, Benny was standing right next to Roger, glaring at him angrily.

"And how many times have you tried to talk to me, Benny?" Roger accused. "This is the most we've spoken in over a year."

"And look how great it's turning out," Benny muttered.

"Well, what do you expect?" Roger sat back down on the couch, arms crossed and brow furrowed. "We don't get along well."

Benny sat down beside him, and the couch creaked in protest. "We used to. We used to get along great."

"Things change," Roger retorted. "That was then. Things are different now."

The two sat beside each other, each feeling slightly uncomfortable with the close proximity to the other, but neither willing to get up. Roger felt himself torn. One part of him wanted to shun Benny, and to have nothing to do with him ever again. He could get away with it, too—he'd been getting away with it fine for the past few months. But what about all of Mimi's "No day but today" talk? If Mimi had been able to forgive Benny, then what real excuse did he have?

None, but that didn't exactly make him feel like jumping up and hugging Benny and declaring that all was forgiven. It _wasn't._

Though maybe, Roger realized reluctantly, it should be.

"Man, I'm a selfish prick," Benny said suddenly. He stared at the still air in front of him and shook his head slowly.

Beside him, Roger stiffened. Did Benny think that self-reproach would fix this? And did he expect Roger to deny the claim?

"So are you, though," Benny added. As Roger bristled beside him, he continued. "That's the only thing stopping us from getting along, you know. We're letting all the junk from the past get in the way of everything."

Benny must have taken the absence of Roger's response as a sign to continue speaking. "We're complete opposites, man. But we got along before. We've changed, but we haven't changed so much that we shouldn't be able to talk without yelling at each other."

"Yeah," Roger allowed himself to grudgingly admit.

Benny took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles, oblivious to the wince the sound emitted from Roger. "Let's start over, right now, today. Can we do that? Let's pretend like all the stuff that happened before just never happened, and let's ignore all the stuff that's probably gonna go down between us in the future." He turned to face Roger and stuck out his hand. "Hi. I'm Benjamin Coffin. But you can call me Benny."

Roger stared down at the hand in front of him. It was a crazy idea, and a stupid one at that, but he imagined that it was something that Angel would have liked. He couldn't stop the stupid grin that spread across his face.

"You're a dork," He said, but he shook Benny's hand.

"And you are?" Benny prompted, grinning like an idiot in a way that Roger hadn't seen in years. He'd had no idea that he had actually missed it.

"Roger," He said with a roll of his eyes. "Roger Davis. Musician." Was he actually going along with Benny's dumb idea?

"Yeah, I think I saw you at the Pyramid Club last night," Benny told him, and Roger almost laughed. So Benny hadn't just "heard" about Roger's return to the music scene. He'd actually been there to witness it in person.

"Well, what'd you think?" He felt stupid acting like he didn't know Benny, but pretending like they'd never met, and like these moments were all they had to judge each other with, made things easier.

"It sucked," Benny said bluntly, and Roger nearly raised his hand to punch him for ruining everything before Benny laughed and said, "Naw, man, I'm kidding. Really, it was some of the best stuff I've ever heard from you. Not," He hurriedly corrected, "that I've ever heard stuff from you before, since we've just met, and there's only this conversation to base my opinion on."

Roger rolled his eyes. _Idiot._ Though he had gotten some things right. "There's only this," he repeated quietly to himself.

No day but today.

"Well, hey. I'm, uh, working on a new song. If you want, you can…uh, listen, or something." Roger bent back down to pick up his guitar, avoiding Benny's face, though Benny's answer brought a small smile to his.

"Yeah, man, I'd love to."

Roger hesitated for a moment. Had this fixed anything? Could moving past all of the mistakes of the past and all of the potential future mistakes really change things between Benny and him? Were things really okay between them?

"Hey," Benny's voice cut through his thoughts. "You gonna play or what? I don't have all day." His voice held a trace of mockery that wouldn't have been found in it a few hours ago.

Roger laughed. "Shut up, you selfish prick. I'm getting ready."

Yeah, things were okay.

* * *

Joanne's heels sank into the moist soil beneath her feet as she laid the single rose down. She stood up slowly, brushing grass off her pant leg, and looked at the grave again. 

"Thanks, Angel," She whispered swiftly, succumbing to the sense of corniness within her. She turned and quickly walked back towards the six people who stood at the gate of the cemetery, waiting for her.

"About time, Pookie," Maureen complained, though Joanne knew she didn't mean it. Maureen gripped one of Joanne's hands tightly in her own and pulled Joanne close enough to her that Joanne could smell her vanilla-flavored shampoo. They turned to walk out of the graveyard, but were stopped at once by Mimi's voice.

"Wait!" She cried. She marched over to the two and pulled them back inside the cemetery, into a circle with the others. "We have to say it," she said firmly, rubbing one gloved hand against the other.

Mark and Roger exchanged glances, but Mimi just ignored them. It was, after all, the two-and-a-half year anniversary. "Everyone's going to say it," She told them, in a voice that left no room for argument.

Mimi looked each of them in the eyes, and began to speak. A chorus of six other voices, some quieter, some louder, joined hers, all speaking the same words: "No day but today."

A silence persisted after the words were let out into the cold air.

The silence was broken when Roger said, "I'm surprised you didn't make us all hold hands and sing Kum-Ba-Yah, too."

Mimi lightly smacked him. "Shut up," She told him, even as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him gently.

Across from them, Benny was speaking steadily to Collins. Joanne caught a few words from their conversation: "Just started all over….not so bad, ya know?"

And Collins, breathing warm air into his cupped hands and shaking his head, was saying something about how it was _about time_ and how it had been a nice early birthday present for him.

Joanne turned in the other direction to find a camera jammed in her face. She moved it away and gave Mark one of her trademark _looks. _

He grinned, obviously guilty. "Sorry." He lowered the camera and turned it off, and she nodded approvingly at him.

"Much better," She said. "I'd rather see your face than the camera's."

Beside her, Maureen tugged her hand. Joanne looked down at the sudden weight and was treated to an unusual sight.

"Your nails are red and blue," She pointed out.

Maureen giggled. "I know," She said brazenly, her lips splitting into their customary teasing smile.

As the seven left the cemetery, Joanne caught Collins' gaze. He nodded at her kindly, eyes bright in remembrance. Joanne turned around and gave one last look to the gravestones behind her, certain that though there were only seven people in their group, an eighth presence was with them as well.

Maureen's insistent yank pulled her out of the cemetery for good, and as Joanne looked around at all the people around her, _living—_Roger, mercilessly poking fun at Collins' "old age", Mimi, gesturing excitedly to her fingernails as Mark struggled to appear interested, and Maureen, informing Benny that if they went out to dinner he had better be prepared to pay—Joanne couldn't help but once more remember Angel's final words to her.

_Just today. _


End file.
